Seduction
by Reinbeauchaser
Summary: Can love conquer all? Will his lust be his undoing? A brief look at the perils and pitfalls of seduction.
1. Betrayal

_**Disclaimer - **There's always a moral to any of my stories, if one looks hard enough. Some are fairly easy to discern, while others take a careful bit of consideration. This one is mostly straightforward and, given the topic, be forewarned that there is implied sexual innuendos, not to mention gory details. Just the same, it's a bit removed from my usual fair. Therefore,, in order to properly convey how 'caught' the victim is in this one-shot, and adequately convey his torment, I had to adopt a certain writing style to tell the story.. _

_In either case, I don't own the TMNT's, never have, never will._

_When you finish Seduction, head on over to Midnight Heir's site and read her companion piece to this story, **Red, White, and Blue**; it's awesome! _

_Thanks, Heir, for gifting me with your wonderful continuation of Seduction! It was brilliant!_

_As an adendum to the initial uploading of my fic, after I read Midnight Heir's story, I added a few minor prop changes to Seduction for continuity. _

_Anyway, thanks for reading!_

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**Seduction**

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Something was bothering him, something - just didn't seem right, yet he could not pinpoint the problem. What he saw didn't make sense, not after all this time. Even though he had known from the beginning that what he wanted might not end well, he had gone ahead and sought it out anyway.

And he was glad he did, too, where he - and she - had benefitted so much.

In the beginning, his plan had been simple; beguile and conquer. He investigated all the angles, too, every flaw, every advantage, and to this end, a better way to win the war.

He also had a need and it begged for his attention.

After weeks of pursuing his conquest, sending her gifts and letters of affection, after he had gained her trust, he felt he had won. It was then when he confessed his love, how he felt about her…before the fall, before her father was no more.

Curious, she had cautiously agreed to a temporary truce, intrigued with his sincerity. She was - surprised, actually. Then, after subsequent meetings, after his persistent ministrations and expressions, she eventually believed his words and accepted him, even falling in love with him.

Or, so he believed.

Nevertheless, her acceptance of him proved his family wrong about her. Each time he met with her, she reinforced that fact, too.

Then, despite his father and brothers' objections about the tryst, he began to regularly meet with her, she greeting him each evening with open arms, eventually welcoming him to her bed. Gradually and regardless of how hard he tried, he found it impossible to let even one day slip by without committing a part of it to their love. He became addicted to it, to her. For the very first time in his life, he felt alive, fulfilled, and complete. Their passion was a pure expression, giving him an opportunity to experience something wonderful, something that he had never felt before.

Love.

With her father permanently gone from her life, now, her mentor's influence had lost its effectiveness. It allowed her to be open to a different point of view, her lover's point of view. Through his patient tutoring and kindness, he nurtured her into the beautiful, giving young woman he knew she could be.

And giving she was, both in deed and in bed!

For the first time in as long as he could remember, his family was safe, unmolested. No more did they do battle or come to blows with hers. A truce, sealed between bed sheets, finally became a reality.

Yet, this night, this one of many such nights when he came to her, there along her smile was something different. It was not as playful as it sometimes was, but was more…seductive, even though it was the same in part. Still, the smile she offered him when he entered her bedchambers seemed different, even forced.

"Tired, my love?" he asked softly, ignoring the warning suspicions playing along the back of his mind, his body heady with inpatient lust. He caressed her face with one hand, as the other wrapped around her tiny waist. He then pressed his body against hers, forehead to forehead, ignoring her hesitation to reply. He allowed his fingers to trail down her neck to her shoulders and then to her bare arms. He tried to kiss her, but she turned aside.

He smiled. This was a game, a game she played each time they came together. First resisting, next teasing him, before gradually relenting, accepting, and finally submitting to him.

"A little," she replied, her breath hitching as he continued to caress her form, his hands gently cupping, playfully squeezing, pinching. She moaned pleasurably.

He breathed into her ear, "Hmm…let's lie together and rest a bit before we…"

"Would you like some tea?" she suddenly interrupted.

"What?" _This was odd_. "Tea?"

"Yes, to help - relax us." she kissed his snout.

"But, I don't want to relax," he chuckled lustfully, "Hmmm…I only want you." He kissed her nose in return.

She then reached up and massaged his shoulders as he wrapped both arms around her, bringing her hard against him, kneading her back, kissing her neck, his lips following the invisible trail his fingers had just left behind.

"You feel - tense, my love." Her voice interrupted his travels, but only for a moment.

"I know of only one place on my anatomy that is tense and it certainly does not need to relax…but…it does need you," he purred, returning to his starting point to nip at her ear.

"You are right, my love, I need you as well," she agreed seductively, pulling away from his gentle bites. She gazed into his chocolate-hued eyes, "but…I….I have had a rough day."

He smiled, "We can end it on a more pleasant note."

"And tea will help to relax me - and you."

He smiled, "Hmm…I would rather have you a bit too tense than too relaxed."

"I will be!" she promised, bringing her mouth to his and kissing him deeply with a suddenness that aroused him, her tongue exploring his, his mouth eagerly accepting it. Hands furthered their exploration, desperately grasping, probing through her veil-like robe, causing her to gasp in quick, rapid pants.

"Please…" she nearly begged, ceasing her own ministrations, "the tea is…is ready…please, let us have some, my love."

"I would rather have you and you seem…relaxed enough…and more than ready, my sweet," he chuckled.

"Yes, you are correct again, but my - my stomach is a little _unsettled_. The tea will help sooth it."

Ignoring her contradicting reasons for the beverage, he relented, "Okay, but only one cup, as I have better ways of relaxing than to drink tea."

She smiled demurely, "And I cannot wait, my love," ducking her head as she slipped from his greedy arms.

"And neither can I," he agreed softly and, for a fleeting moment, that same curious quirk returned to her smile.

He ignored it, though, letting her go and watched as she nearly floated around the bed to stand by the small table next to the mattress. Her silken white gown, barely a whisper of material and transparent against her lithe, supple body, billowed away from her form, leaving nothing to the imagination. He smiled hungrily as he took her in and hesitated only slightly before following her, his thirst for her building upon itself, threatening to overwhelm his good manners. Once again, he anticipated having her, two lovers entwined, keeping to perfect rhythm. Even though he was slightly irritated with the delay, he resisted his urgings, taking a cleansing breath to quell his body's impatience. He watched as she slowly poured the tea, first into one blue cup and then into its twin, the pair a gift from him to her only a week before. He wished she would hurry, to dispense with formalities with such drink, but he again took measured breaths to quell his uprising.

_Having tea_, he thought to himself, _seems such a waste of time; I could easily de-stress her, so why is she so insistent on having tea? _

A sudden concern then edged his thoughts, but months of experience had taught him to trust herm despite their personal history. She loved him and had given herself freely to him, and in oh so many ways, too. She denied him nothing, not time, not his playful ideas, not - _anything_. And, yet, something nagged at his subconscious, that little voice that said something was terribly wrong.

Still, the moment she turned and smiled, handing one of the cups to him, his worries melted under the hot anticipation of his desire.

As she took the other cup, "To our love…" she cooed, raising her vessel in toast, before bowing her head slightly in submission.

"May it never end," he murmured lustfully, repeating her gesture and bowing as well. He then brought the cup to his lips and matched her movements, tipping his as she tipped hers, both drinking deeply. When they finished, he slowly wiped his mouth dry with the back of his hand, his eyes never leaving hers. As she stared curiously at him, her lips wet from the tea, for a long pregnant moment, he allowed himself to get lost within her beautiful green orbs. She was so exquisite, so perfect, so demure…

So blurred...

He scowled; she seemed...unfocused, now, her edges softening, suddenly doubling.

_What's happening?_ he wondered dully.

First, there were two of her, then one, then two again. Her form suddenly began to bounce and undulate, almost making him feel seasick. Then, his fingers suddenly lost their grip on the cup and it dropped from his hand, crashing to the marble flooring, and breaking into a dozen or more pieces. The noise it made seemed distant to him, though, hallow, as it echoed in the sparsely furnished room. The shards of porcelain scattered in all directinos across the cream-colored stone he stood on, stone that was once rigid, but now seemed in upheaval. He felt as if he was indeed on a boat and in the midst of a growling storm, the waves of nausea replacing his lustful thoughts with those of confused concern.

Suddenly, his world went screwy, his lover's smile widened, and he felt himself falling…falling, plummeting into an abyss, before finding himself pushed back and onto the bed by hands that seemed stronger by ten fold. He looked up at her, seeking answers, an explanation, anything so that he could understand what was happening to him, to her.

Instead, she towered over him, her face contorting from a smiling angel to that of a sneering demon.

"Wha…wha's goin' on?" he mumbled and then his eyes grew wide when his tongue thickened in size, causing his speech to slur.

"My _love_?" she nearly cackled, one eyebrow raised in mockery, "_forever_ my love?" she hissed, "You - cannot be serious."

At first confused, he looked up at her and wondered what had changed. Then, with horrific realization, he fearfully and belatedly understood what was going on. She had played him, foolishly, he had dropped his guard. Foolishly, he had given sway to his lust, to his trust, and in the end, she had drugged him.

First with her love, now with her tea.

"Wh...why?" he barely managed, nearly choking. It was all he could say, though, as his tongue finally, fully betrayed him, its swollen state filling his mouth so that speaking now became virtually impossible.

"Baka _turtle_; for revenge, of course," she spat in answer.

He could barely swallow, now, barely think, his voice useless to his outrage, his mind muddled, drugged. He tried to react, to swing out, to strike, but as helpless as his speech was, his arms - and, quickly, the rest of his body - became equally impotent.

Pinning him easily, she slid one leg over his torso, straddling his helpless form, as it lay mute atop her silken bed sheets, defenseless.

"It is fast acting, the drug," she explained with a laugh, "It absorbs first under your tongue, the glands there easily accepting the drug…" She paused, then, smiling, before murmuring, "which is why your tongue is now swollen, it quiets your complaints, your call for help." She chuckled and watched as he tried to scowl at her, his lips vainly attempting to form words she would never hear, the immediate realization of betrayal etched across his face. Her laughter taunting him, she continued, "As soon as you fully ingested the drug, when you understood something was wrong, it immobilized your muscles; rendering you - helpless…like now."

She snickered again, throwing her head back in abandoned glee, her riotous, loud, abrasive mirth assaulting him, and he could do nothing but watch, lying there unable to move. She suddenly ceased her exclamation and quickly reached over to slip a hand under her pillow. To tease him, she allowed her ample bosom to brush across his muzzle. As she sat up straight again, she held in her hand a knife, a knife he had gifted her with a month earlier. She then brought the weapon into full view of his inspection.

Once again, his eyes grew wide in response, the only response he could now give her. The previous one, the one he had wanted to give her, no longer mattered, and from the drug now coursing through his body, it had dwarfed its potency considerably.

He tried shaking his head, to beg her to reconsider, but it was of no use. He was as immobile as a statue. Just as she had said, paralysis now gripped his entire being. He could only lay there and watch as she brought the weapon up under his chin, pressing it along the right side of his neck, slowly ever so allowing the tip of the blade to work its way into his thick, leathery skin. He heard the pop of its puncture and felt the searing sharp pain from the cut. That was when panic began to overwhelm him.

Without explanation, she stopped her assault and grinned down at him, that same grin that had greeted him moments earlier. It was then he knew why it had bothered him, before lust overwhelmed his common sense.

Her smile wasn't a smile of acceptance.

It wasn't a smile of love and affection.

It was a smile of the devil herself.

She chuckled, sneering, "It took much resolve to let you - _have_ me - so many times, for so many months." She looked down at him with disgust gracing her features, "Did you know that I bathed after you left, each and every time, to rid myself of your scent, of your fluids - of YOU? Still, lying with you justified my purpose, justified committing…_bestiality_." She saw the shocked look in his eyes, the betrayal he was feeling, and her lip curled. Nevertheless, she softened her voice and pursed her lips, as she caressed his cheek with one finger, "Oh, you thought I loved you?" Then she sneered, "BAKA!" Once again, she laughed at him, her chortle resonating against the walls of her bedroom, her eyes dancing in merriment, as she mocked his love for her.

And, in that moment, his heart broke, his world collapsed, all his dreams and expectations evaporated into nothingness.

She leaned in very close to him, now, her mouth whispering into his ear, "And just so you know, so you do not worry for me, I took the antidote before you came tonight." As she sat up, she growled, "Now, as I vowed on the day that you destroyed my **life**, I will AVENGE MY FATHER!"

With determined strength, she pushed the knife further into his throat. He tried to scream, but by then, even his larynx no longer functioned. Why he was still able to breath, why his heart and lungs seemed spared of the paralysis, only meant one thing, she wanted to do the killing. She wanted him to suffer.

With a grunt and a flourish, she ripped the blade across his throat to the opposite side, deepening her thrust as she cut into him. She never flinched as blood sprayed her nightgown and silken sheets, the arterial crimson spurt staining the wall next to her bed. All the while, his eyes stared at her, motionless, drugged to inaction. Only his pupils reacted, the only part of his body still able to, as they dilated with a sharp suddenness from the excruciating pain.

As her knife completed its journey, she removed the weapon and raised it high in triumph, the point of the blade positioned downwards, as droplets of his blood raining down on her - and him, "For you, Father," she vowed. Yet, in that same moment, her voice hitched. She squeezed her eyes shut, as a single tear escaped, nearly betraying her declaration of victory. She then took in a quick desperate breath and opened her eyes, glaring at the inert form beneath her.

However, just before she plunged the blade into his heart, as expiratory blood bubbled and pooled along his ruptured throat, Leonardo realized all too late, all too foolishly, his terrible folly.

His family was right; the more things change, the more they remain the same.

Karai would always, and forever, be their enemy.

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_'A lusting man is a man easily brought to ruin'_

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**_A/N - I apologize to any new readers who did not have the warning of Character Death (CD). Originally, I had labled this fic thus, for the benefit of those who 'complain' of getting heart palpatations whenever they read a CD. However, after a few readers told me the warning ruined the ending, where they now expected 'someone' to die, they suggested that I remove it. Where these reviewers are notable and venerable writers themselves on FF, I decided to follow their advice. If you need to flame, flame them, not me. :0) Despite how long I've been here, I'm still open to learning how to do this thing called writing, so - yeah - call this an experiment - and thank you for reading!_ **


	2. Avenger's Cry

_**Disclaimer - **Although my initial plans were to leave Seduction as a single-chaptered story, Midnight Heir's 'Red, White, and Blue' challenged me to write more on this tragic tale. This will be a multi-fic story, now, although not a marathon. _

_Once again, I keep trying to remind myself that I do not own the TMNT's, I'm only borrowing, but - it sure feels like I own them. Nevertheless, I make no money or special appearances. I am a boring housewife, with nothing better to do with my time than to write happy little stories about ninja turtles. Well, usually happy little stories. Bwahahaha_

_My appreciation to all who have encouraged me through the now-working (yeah) review window, too. Thanks!_

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**Chapter 2 -** **Avenger's Cry**

He leapt between buildings, his effort great since the distance was great, and for a fleeting moment midway through the arc, he hoped he wouldn't make it. What he had to do this evening might prove his father wrong and his theory correct and, despite the fact that he had been so adamant about it, there was a spark of hope wanting his suspicions unfounded. To return with such news that said he was right would destroy not only his father, but also his dead brother's reputation as ninja - for no ninja should have been as clueless as Leo had been.

In any event, he did make the opposite ledge, and as he sprinted across the rooftop, his quest continued.

Keeping to the normal code of silence, Raphael kept his inner rage to a simmering boil. His anger mute against the cacophony of noise from the city far below, this was not the time or place to let loose his wrath. No, he would wait until such a moment where it would count. Then, even the demons from hell would tremble in his wake, because all that would matter to him then would be to get justice for his murdered brother.

Currently, he was on a simple information-gathering mission, sent by his father, and one that would confirm his or Splinter's worst fears. If it should be the former, Raph would go against his sensei's wishes, unleashing his rage to full measure. Then, whatever accord he and his family had shared with the Foot, would be invalid. Considering the reason for his foray, anyway, it was already a moot point, no matter who within the organization had done the deed. In the end, Raph would have his revenge.

In reality, though, his quest had begun two weeks earlier when his family's peace shattered into a million shards. Before that event, however, they had enjoyed a kind of freedom of which they had only dreamed. Once they had accepted the truce, for many months and through Leonardo's insistence, they took advantage of it, racing across rooftops unmolested, exploring the city; and conducting training runs without the threat of attack from the Foot. Months of accord with their long-suffering enemy had afforded them this kind of luxury. In spite of their concerns that it had only been a ruse to dull their senses, the longer the amnesty was between the Foot and the turtles, the more complacent they had all become. There had only been one altercation marring the relative cooperation between the two clans. That soldier had paid with his life, too - by Karai's sword, in fact. She was swift with her judgment yet never hesitated informing the turtle clan of her employee's fate for disobeying her orders. It was a cruel way to enact justice, maybe, but it was one deemed necessary, if real peace was to reign between the two clans.

Raph growled inwardly, a sudden rage rising up within him, as he leapt over an air-conditioning unit blocking his path. He thought about how foolish they had all been.

_How stupid, to believe she really meant it_, he hissed.

Raphael was certain he was right about Karai, too, certain that she was still alive. And, if she wasn't, it really didn't matter, because Leo was dead, and Raph would make sure that someone would pay for his brother's mistake in trust.

As he ran across the gravely rooftop, Raph realized he couldn't fault anyone in his clan for dropping their guard. Leonardo's safe return from each of his many visits to her apartment, where Karai waited for him, had mollified them, blinding them to the dangers. Over time, their lifestyle became one of mundane expectations, days filled with boring repetitive habits, and just living the way normal people would.

If Raphael were honest with himself, though, he would have to admit that it was a pleasant change from their constant battle with the Foot. Consequently, after several months passed in relative peace, he - and his family - chose to look the other way, that is, until that fateful night.

As Raph thought back to that moment, they had already been looking for Leonardo. He had been AWOL for two days and it was unlike him to be gone for so long, even with his romantic meetings with Karai. Although they had left messages on her phone's answering machine, asking where Leonardo was, Karai never called them back.

Finally, they chanced a visit to her more public residence, the one she had rented for the soul purpose of receiving Leonardo. She did so to guarantee his safety, where the chances of someone 'interrupting' them would be minimal. Taking an apartment north of Manhattan, her residence was the only one on the twentieth story. It faced the Hudson River, too, and the only rental in the complex that did so, giving them a privacy that even her penthouse could ill afford.

In any event, when Raph and his brothers arrived, they found the apartment vacant, not a piece of furniture left. After breaking in, they scoured the rooms, checking into closets, kitchen cabinets, and even venturing down into the basement to see if she had tossed something through the trash flue, anything that might explain Leo's disappearance.

When they had finally finished their investigation, though, other than trace amounts of bleach and a few strands of Karai's hair, they found nothing of her or their brother.

It occurred to Don, then, especially with the bit of bleach he had found - which would have been the correct cleaner to remove blood, that there might have been a mutiny of sorts within the Foot. It was a foregone conclusion that as large an organization that the clan was, there could be a few disgruntled members, a few Foot soldier unhappy about the amnesty.

And, given the fact that Karai was quite attractive, too, it wasn't hard to imagine she might have had a secret admirer, as well. This admirer would probably find Leonardo courting Karai and subsequent participation in her bed quite repulsive and a challenge to his affections.

Consequently, when the three brothers returned to their lair and Don shared his theory with Splinter, both decided that must have been what happened. It wouldn't have been too surprising if the Foot had turned in on itself and took matters into their own hands about the truce. Mike had tentatively sided with his father and brother, but as for Raphael - he still believed Karai was alive and the reason for Leonardo's disappearance.

Then, a few days later and after scouring the city again in another fruitless search, they tried to take in a little diversion, to rest up, to recharge. That was when they made the horrific discovery.

As Raph thought about it, as he scaled up the side of another building, he was not that surprised with the news, when the special report interrupted the program they were watching. As he hefted himself onto another rooftop and took in a breath of smog-rich air, he would never forget that moment, either, not with how everyone had reacted…

_As the Special Report came on, everyone on the couch groaned._

"_Great, just great, right when it's gettin' interesting," Raph grumped, tipping his beer back and taking a generous gulp. He leaned into the corner of the couch where he sat, wiping his mouth dry with his forearm, glaring at the scene on the television as it changed to that of a newsroom._

_The news commentator looked into the camera, sitting behind his desk, paper in hand. Behind him and to his left, was a picture of a turtle, a red-eared slider in fact, and one of the X-Men characters slightly overlapping it. Raph squinted at the television, recognizing Wolverine, and wondered why they would do that…unless…_

_Mike then lobbed a fistful of popcorn at the television, breaking into Raphael's thoughts, complaining, "What can be so import…"_

"_HUSH!" Raph and Don both ordered him, just as the reporter began speaking. Mike stopped his chewing and gulped, curiously looking at both his brothers before returning to watch the news. _

"_Good evening, I'm Chet Reynolds. We apologize for interrupting your programming. A few hours ago, local police were called to investigate a body found alongside the shoreline of the Henry Hudson Parkway in northwest Manhattan. Police haven't yet identified the remains; but it is not the identity that has the authorities puzzled. In fact, this case would be better suited for… the X-Files." _

_The X-File's familiar theme song then began playing, as the station switched to a scene filmed earlier, when it was still daylight out. It showed the Hudson River flowing generously on its way to the ocean, with the shores of New Jersey in the distance. As the camera panned to the right and the music faded, another man's face came into view - another reporter, his microphone in hand, his eyes firm on the camera. _

"_This is Ramon Garcia, reporting for channel six and we learned just a while ago from the authorities that at around three this afternoon, two teenage boys, biking along the parkway, discovered something that will rival the alligator in the sewer myth."_

_The scene then moved to the reporter's right to settle on an area already busy with CSI personnel. As the camera zoomed in and the investigative scene took up the entire view, the turtles recognized the familiar yellow police tape roping off the area. Within the confines of the segregated square, forensic personnel, with their CSI labeled vests signifying their authority, worked around a plastic sheet, yellow in color, and lying across what appeared to be the deceased. Yet, there was an eerily familiar rounded mound clearly definable under the bright hued cover. One of the men peeled back a corner of the sheet to look at what lay underneath, and then he shook his head, he said something to his partner. Then, he shrugged, apparently confused by what he saw.._

"_Guys, I…I have a very bad feeling about…" Mike began, but Raph cut him off._

"_Shut the shell up, Mike, and just listen for once!"_

_In response, Mike hunkered deeper into the cushions and took a deep breath. He drew his legs up and then wrapped his arms around them. He shivered once and swallowed, then felt Donnie pat his shoulder as they stared at the television. Mikey was both transfixed and nauseous, his worst fears niggling at him, as he continued to listen to the report. _

"_As we were told earlier," the reporter began again, "what the police found this afternoon was astonishing. It seems the body that washed ashore is that of a turtle. Yet, this is not your average backyard variety, folks. From what we were told when we first arrived, it seems to be an abnormality, a mutated version of the lowly humble terrapin."_

"_No, please no, please, if there is a god, no…" Mike moaned, as he and his two brothers continued to stare at the scene. All were transfixed with the story, each one holding their breath, their stomachs knotting in anxiety, each silently praying the same prayer that Mikey had. _

_The news reporter continued, "Just a moment ago, an expert in the field of herpetology talked with this reporter."_

_As the scene switched to the interview, filmed earlier in the taping, the brothers simultaneously leaned forward, each of them focused on the television, hoping against hope that what they feared most was a misunderstanding of the reporter's facts._

"_I am here with Dr. Algrove of the Bronx Zoo, director of the reptile department and a professor of herpetology at Columbia University. What exactly do we have here, Dr. Algrove?" the reporter asked, shoving a microphone towards the other man's face._

_As the Doctor's name and job title appeared along the bottom of the screen, "Well, we're not exactly sure, but by all accounts, it seems to be a very large trachemys scripta." _

_Taking his microphone back, the reporter remarked, "I see," and then asked, "What kind of turtle is that, Dr. Algrove?" and then positioned the mic in front of his interviewee once more._

"_Oh," he chuckled, "Sorry, I forget not everyone uses the scientific term. A red-eared slider, and the largest one that I've ever seen." It was easy to discern the excitement in the man's eyes as he glanced over at the yellow-covered mound, "Not your average garden variety, that's for sure."_

"_And why would that be, sir?"_

"_Well, it has legs, for one…" The doctor glanced at the reporter again and seemed satisfied with his reply. As he noticed a growing impatience from the man standing next to him, Dr. Algrove added, leaning into the microphone a bit, "...and arms. He seems to be - bipedal, that is if the calluses on his feet are an indication."_

"_A turtle…that can walk on two legs? Isn't that - impossible?"_

_A small chuckle distracted two of the brothers on the couch for a moment. When Raph glared at Donnie in warning, his purple-banded brother nodded solemnly and went back to watching the television again. _

"_Usually, but - evidently - not with this one. He's had some extensive injuries and some scaring. He seems to be wearing arm and knee bands, along with a belt…." _

_And_ _that was all it took, then, for all hell to break loose in the lair. _

_Screaming for Splinter, Michelangelo jumped from the couch and raced to his father's room, not wasting time to knock, but barging in with a cry in his voice. "Oh my god, my god, she killed him, Karai killed Leo!"_

"_What?" the rat was to his feet in an instant, his mediation forgotten. "Why do you say this, my son?" _

_At first, Mike could only point repeatedly towards the living area, his mouth trying to form words, but failing. When he finally found his voice again, "He…he's on television, they - they," and then he collapsed to his knees, hyperventilating, and holding onto himself, "We - we were right, Oh god, oh god, Sensei, we were right…Raph was right, how come we couldn't be wrong," Mikey wailed, "I think I'm gonna be sick," and he did, right there on Splinter's bedroom floor._

_Ignoring his son's plight, Splinter was out of his bedroom in a flash. He headed for the main living area, where he found Donatello in a struggle with Raphael. The red-masked turtle was yelling expletives, while Donnie, who was crying, held onto him, trying to keep him from leaving the lair or trashing it. Splinter couldn't tell, since there were a few household items broken and strewn around the lair._

_In either case, as Splinter stood there, Michelangelo had recovered himself to join his father in the living room. He was still crying, too, numb with shock, with spittle from his vomit on his plastron. He stood there, weaving a little in disorientation, while his other two brothers fought. Mikey held himself as if he would quite literally blow away._

"_I'll kill that bitch, so help me I'll rip her head right off, I'll destroy the entire Foot headquarters, I'll…!" Raphael raged on._

"_RAPHAEL!" Splinter's strong voice resounded, the sharp crack of his walking stick resonating against the stone floor. Everyone ducked in reaction, where they were all too familiar with their father's cane. It effectively halted the altercation between his two sons, though, a deafening silence filling the lair. _

_Splinter then calmly announced, "You will do nothing, my son. Not until we have all of our facts," and then the rat turned towards the television, where the screen showed the camera panning over the area where all the activity was taking place along the Hudson. "Is this the source of your information? How many times must I tell you not to believe…" and then Splinter went quiet as he stared at the televsion. His eyes widened in horror. as in that moment, the camera zoomed in on the yellow plastic blanket, the hump under the sheet unmistakable and obvious. _

"_Oh, no, Leonardo…my son…"and with a hand covering his mouth, with tears brimming in his eyes, the old rat walked slowly over to the sofa to sit down. _

_His remaining sons joined him, as Mike, who wept softly, sat next to his father. Splinter wrapped an arm around his youngest son's shoulders to comfort him, as Donnie sat down on the opposite side of the rat, crying as well. _

_Finally, Raphael seated himself on the armrest next to his genius brother. His eyes were wide and angry, fearful, too, yet he glared at the television, as if the device was responsible for this terrible event. _

_The four continued to listen to the news, recognizing their brother's description from the herpetologist's analysis. Despite the tragedy, while Mike and Don cried, Raphael and Splinter remained stoic and silent. Internally, one raged like an angry volcano, while the other sat in shocked grief._

"_So, what're we gonna do? Just let those stinkin' scientist keep Leo's body? Ya know what they're gonna do to 'em, don'cha?" Raph hollered, standing up and facing his family. _

_As Mike and Don listened, the phone rang and they knew it would be April, or Casey. They ignored it, however, too traumatized to react. In any event, Splinter replied, his voice thick with emotion, "There is nothing that we can do, Raphael." He swallowed then and sighed, "Leonardo, your brother, is most likely dead, it make sense where he has been gone for so long," he waved a hand towards the television, "His body is in the hands of the authorities. We cannot intervene because of who and what we are, and anyone that we might send on our behalf, such as Miss Oneal or Mr. Jones, would be suspect, not only to explain your brother's existence, but his death as well." _

"_This just plain **sucks**!" Raph growled, upending the coffee table and grabbing up a nearby lamp to lob it against the far wall. The fixture broke into several parts and settled along the floor, its remnants scattered about. _

"_Yes, I cannot disagree with you," his father said, "but we must remain in control and vigilant for any further information that the news has to share. I am certain they will determine how your brother died."_

"_It's not the how, Sensei," Don remarked, sniffing, "But who did it."_

_Mikey nodded in agreement, wiping a hand across his snout, "Yeah, I mean, I might not be the sharpest tack here, but - Karai comes to mind."_

_As Raphael tried to add his own opinion, Splinter raised a paw to silence him, "We will make no assumptions until all details are exhausted. We will wait." His upturned chin and his penetrating gaze told Raphael he would not brook any challenges on the matter, and so he uttered a guttural scream and stormed off to his room, slamming the door behind him._

_As days passed, newspapers and Internet sites, as well as the televised news, provided more information regarding New York's giant 'turtle-man'. There were the side reports about people publicly admitting seeing something matching its description, before it washed ashore. To them, though, he was a hero. They spoke of how he and others like him had intervened during robberies or muggings, or maybe just helping them out in general, when a need arose. Many of those who shared these insights, though, were the homeless and those of questionable character, such as prostitutes. _

_There was the occasional 'Joe Citizen', the innocent victim who was in the wrong place at the wrong time, only to have a savior in green rescue him. Yet, the authorities didn't seem too interested, despite the obvious proof of the dead giant turtle._

_Just the same, the fact that these witnesses admitted to seeing more than one mutant turtle caused a great deal of concern for the clan. The last thing they needed now was to have an all-out search by hunters and thrill-seekers for giant turtles in the sewers. Their only hope to remain unmolested by the public would be for them to cease and desists all outings to the surface. In the end, Splinter implemented a temporary curfew about going topside, with the possibility of making it permanent._

_And it didn't sit well with Raphael either. That first week had been torturous for him - and for his brothers, but then, things became more interesting when the news reported how Leonardo had died._

"_I knew it, I KNEW IT!" Raphael growled as he furiously paced around the lair, "She set him up, she betrayed him, it had to be Karai!"_

"_They only know he had his throat cut and his chest stabbed. It could have been anyone, Raph; maybe even a jealous soldier within the Foot clan, like Splinter and I theorized." Donatello reasoned. _

"_Okay, brainiac, tell me this then…" Raph charged his brother, who sat on the couch, forcing Donnie to shrink back slightly, his arms up in defensive. As Raph went beak to beak with him, "If someone 'offed' the two of them, why hasn't Karai's body been found, as well? I think she's still alive and if she IS innocent, why hasn't she called us?" He snorted and straightened up again, throwing his hands in the air in frustration, "It's been freakin' a week, Donnie; Karai has called Leo at least twice every week since…since they've been together." He straightened and stormed around the room before slumping into the far wall, his shell ringing loudly against the brick construction. Folding his arms in front of him in a huff, "If Karai IS alive, she would'a seen the news, and if she's innocent, if she loved Leo like she said she did, she would have called us…to give us her condolences. But she hasn't, so that means she's either dead or she's guilty!"_

_Donnie shook his head and shrugged, "I know and maybe I'm in denial. I was hoping that Leo had changed her, that she had fallen in love with him. I was hoping he had just decided to spend a few extra days with her, doing…whatever it was they did together. I dunno, Raph…"_

"_He would'a called, idiot! Leo wouldn't do that without calling." With that, Raph headed for the exit, "Karai killed him and then dumped his body inta the Hudson!" Then, with a warning glance from Splinter to stay inside, Raphael snapped, "I won't go topside," and then he rushed out the door and into the sewers._

_The rat slumped back against his chair in defeat and let out a breath. After repeated attempts had failed to get them to stop their bickering, Splinter had resigned himself to letting his sons debate the issue uninterrupted. He only had enough energy to sit there in his rocker, watching the news; hoping and praying that something different about Leonardo's demise would make the airwaves. _

_He needed answers. More importantly, though, he wanted his family whole again. _

_Eight days after Leo's discovery, a report of someone finding a peculiar knife showed up on the evening news as an addendum to the story. It had everyone in the lair gathering around the television set. April and Casey were there, too, although subdued in their grief. The mourning time over Leo's murder seemed to hang like a pall over the tight-knit group of friends, the joyless atmosphere thick and suffocating. Yet, the news report seemed to ignite a spark of interest and so they listened intently to the report._

_It appeared that an angler had been fishing along the shores of the Hudson and had snagged a knife, his line catching on the ornate hilt of the weapon. He told the reporter at the time that he remembered the news account days earlier regarding the 'giant turtle'. When he saw the knife, he knew it had to have something to do with the strange creature. _

_Just days earlier, the brothers had learned from an Internet site, one dedicated primarily to Leonardo - or Turtle-Man, as he was labeled - that forensics had performed a necropsy on Leo's body. The report said that, with the way his chest had been cut and the contours of the wound that it was made by a curved blade. His throat had been sliced open, as well, so it was a given Leo had bled out, but - more to the point, it said to his brothers that he had been executed. _

_Nevertheless, the fisherman knew when he saw the knife, that it had to be the one in question and, so, he called it in. _

_By the next day, the news reported that lab testing proved the blade matched the wound in Leonardo's plastron. There were fingerprints, too, bloody ones, but none matched those the authorities had on file. _

_Of course, it only confirmed to Raphael and his family that the Foot were responsible for Leonardo's murder. Then, when the newscast showed a picture of the knife, it matched the one that Leo had given to Karai. It only further cemented the idea that, if Karai wasn't responsible, then someone from the Foot had done the need._

_And, with that said, another round of arguments ensued between Raphael and Donatello._

_Originally, Leo had forged the knife, carving the handle himself, spending every spare moment creating his gift for her. Raphael had contested the gift, too, telling Leo he was only giving Karai something that could bite him back, and in the worst possible way._

"_Hey," Leo had chuckled, waving away his brother's concerns, "Karai's had plenty of opportunities over the past four months to betray me, and she hasn't, Raphael. And Karai has enough weapons at her disposal to do the job. Trust me, she won't betray me, she loves me." and then he left the lair, heading for his lover's apartment, his gift beautifully wrapped, and tucked securely under one arm. _

_Now he was dead and the entire world knew about the knife, save for its history._

As Raphael reached the top of the building, he stood there, staring out across the expanse of other structures. Beyond them, six blocks away, towered the Saki building, its distinctive penthouse crowning the imposing edifice. It was there he would find his answers and, if he was correct, it would be there where he would find justice for his brother.

Raphael looked back and saw a fleeting glimpse of a figure darting into shadows. He stared hard, waiting, patient…knowing. He chuckled then, knowing what followed him and he would certainly engage them, but only _after_ he had completed his assignment.

Then, with sai in hand, he would gladly welcome back the war.

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_A/N - Next chapter is done, I just have to fine-tune it. It's a little more disturbing than this one, too, so - yeah - hold on tight. :0)_


	3. Phantasm

_**Disclaimer - **I'm_ _not that satisfied with chapter 2, folks, so I may be changing it a bit, to fit with the way this story began. At least, in style and flow. Until then, I'm uploading chapter 3. As before, though, I own nothing at all. _

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**Chapter 3 - Phantasm**

She was drowning, descending deeper and deeper, her hands groping, as they clawed desperately for purchase. She glanced upwards and saw the surface, so close, yet so far from her reach. It frustrated her. Yet, the undulating waves there told her that a storm raged topside and she wasn't so certain that she would be better off. In the next moment, however, Karai saw a distorting flash of blue replace the wild, unkempt weather, with sunlight knifing down through the water, illuminating her. Finally, a fleeting parade of clouds completed the contradictory scene.

She blinked, confused with the sudden change.

Still, Karai knew she was drowning and she needed air. Yet, no matter how hard she tried to swim, no matter how determinedly she kicked and pulled at the water, she continued to sink…down…down…deeper…her body becoming more oxygen deprived.

For a moment, Karai felt panicky, but then in the next moment, she took in her general area. The conflicting actions added to her confusion, yet she still found herself looking around.

Curiously, Karai discovered that the ocean she was in was as red as Valentine roses. In every direction she glanced, she saw nothing but the crimson hue dominating the scenery. Yet, it was her perpetual decline, and not the water's color, that brought her back to her present, more important dilemma.

In short, her lungs were ready to burst.

The strange thing was she didn't necessarily feel as if her life was in danger and yet her inability to make any headway in the water perplexed her. She knew how to swim; Karai knew she was a strong swimmer, so why couldn't she reach the surface? This question tugged tenaciously at the back of her mind and it made her angry.

It was then when she turned her gaze to herself, looking down in the direction that she was going. Then, she finally understood.

She was wearing a kimono, a kimono as white as snow.

Why she was wearing one while in the water Karai didn't know, but she did wonder for a moment why the red water hadn't tinted the robe.

_Strange question to have, when I am drowning_, she thought.

Nevertheless, she knew she would indeed drown unless she did something about the garment. With the heavy silk material pulling her further beneath the tumultuous waves above, Karai tried to slip from the copious material. At first, it resisted and another wave of panic set in. Then, just as her outfit loosened from around her, knives suddenly ripped through the cloth from underneath!

She watched as the blades protruded through, viciously splitting the shimmery material, and shredding the sleeves. As the rest of the garment disintegrated, the ruined kimono dropped from the woman's form and sank further into the dark abyss below. Karai observed it fall, transfixed with its dance, as what was left of the material billowed out like a parachute. It then began to pirouette in small circles as it dropped and Karai continued to watch, fascinated. The sleeves, finding more resistance with the water, seemed to imitate the fifth arm position of a ballerina's dance. They dragged above the dress as it dropped deeper and deeper, its stark white contrasted harshly against the red water. For Karai, it made it easily discernable. Then, the instant before it disappeared, the white kimono changed to blue.

_That was strange_, she thought.

For a long moment, she wondered about it, the color. It…reminded her of something, of…someone. Before she could think further about it, though, something grabbed her attention. There was something heavier upon her than the kimono. As she inspected her body, trying to make sense of what it could be, much to her horror, she discovered she now wore her father's battle armor, with his familiar bladed gauntlets wrapped around her arms. The combined weight of the metallic suit and arm guards dragged her further down and so she, again, attempted to shrug out of the heavy costume, just as she had tried to do with the kimono.

However, it refused to budge, more so than the robe had. The suit almost seemed to be a part of Karai, like skin.

Now writhing in frantic agony and as her lungs screamed and burned for air, just as Karai thought she would indeed drown, she suddenly woke up.

With a start, she sat upright and gasped like an oxygen-starved fish. Once she realized she was awake, she looked around, wild-eyed, panting. For a moment, she found herself caught between the conscious world and that of her dream. As she became more awake, her room dark as night, she felt a sudden chill and realized that she was wet. Her pale skin glistened with moisture and perspiration and she trembled. It was then when she realized that she had had a dream…a nightmare.

Supporting herself with both palms flat against her mattress, Karai shook her head and glanced around her darkened bedroom. She smiled and recognized that she was in her penthouse at Foot headquarters, where she had gone to bed the night before. Relieved, she focused on breathing normally again

_It was just a dream_, she repeated to herself, chuckling, and rather amused that it would disturb her so. Then, she repeated her thought aloud, more determinedly, almost to challenge her nightmare, "It is only a dream," as if by giving her thought voice, she would sound more convincing.

Karai suddenly yawned expansively and realized how tired she was. She glanced at her alarm clock and noticed the time.

_Two a.m.? _She harrumphed, _Only_ t_wo hours of sleep, and I have to wake up earlier than usual, too. Why is it when I have to get up early, I do not sleep well? _

She turned where she sat, to lie down on her side, to resume her rest. After all, she had a big day planned and needed her sleep.

However, as she settled in against the mattress, Karai realized that it was wet and so she pulled away to look at it. That was when she saw something odd. With only the scant bit of light seeping through her window and mixing with her darkened room, her white sheets were quite discernable. Yet, what she saw on her sheets did not appear to be perspiration. The stain was too dark for that.

After she crawled to her side table and turned her lamp on, Karai glanced back to the spot in question, and then suddenly gasped.

Her mattress was wet...with blood.

Surprised, Karai jumped out of her bed, her feet hitting the cold marble floor in an instant. She startled, at first, the cool temperature a striking contrast to her warm covers. Nevertheless, it was the crimson color of her mattress that had most of her attention. She starred wide-eyed, now, with confusion at the ruddy hue. After a moment, the bright pigmentation helped her to remember her deed from two weeks earlier.

"This…this cannot be happening…" she spat quickly, "this is not the apartment; this is my bedroom, in my father's penthouse." Closing her eyes tightly, Karai willed the vision to flee. Slowly, she opened them again.

The blood was still there.

"NO!" she screamed in defiance, her hands fisted at her side, "This is not…is not REAL!"

Karai pressed the heel of her hands to her face, grinding her palms into her eye sockets. With her mouth contorting in agony, "This cannot be happening…" she cried, and continued to rub, hoping that by doing so she would rid her mind of the awful visage. After a moment, and when she was satisfied, Karai dropped her hands, but then gasped again. Blood dripped from her fingertips, spilling over her nightgown, the drops spreading out as the material soaked them up.

It was then when a quiet sob escaped her lips, "He…he is dead..." she whispered, her voice hoarse from her emotions, "...his blood wiped clean from me. This is…impossible…he is…is no more…I know this. I am only having a dream, another **nightmare**." She then laughed a little, "That is it; I am dreaming again, I have to be." Karai almost felt relief, amused.

She looked at her bed, again, yet it remained stained as before.

"It MUST be a dream!" she demanded insistently, pounding a fist into her thigh.

Suddenly, her eyes widened as the bloodstain began to glisten, then pooling, as if freshly spilled. Next, it began to bubble upwards from the center of her mattress, like a mountain spring, spreading out beyond the initial stain. Incredulously, it continued its journey towards Karai, miniature rivulets growing and moving like a living entity, heading towards the mattress edge. Without slowing, it tumbled over the precipice, like a waterfall, pushed along by the generous flow behind it. For a moment, it collected along the floor as it pooled.

As more of the ruddy liquid fell from the mattress and added to the puddle, it suddenly began spreading outwards, like an advancing army of crimson ooze.

Karai took a frantic step backwards, uncertain and confused. She held her breath and watched as the ruddy stream came towards her. It seemed to have come alive, branching out, before splitting into many fingers of red, all of it heading straight for her! It was then, when Karai realized its true intent. She raced for her door.

However, the door, locked tight, would not open, no matter how hard she banged against its surface, or twist the handle. It refused to budge regardless. She screamed in rage and then Karai snapped around, glowering at the rushing tide, almost challenging it. And then she suddenly felt an unfamiliar panic overtake her.

Yet before she could utter a call for help or leap over the flow, the scarlet aqueous fingers grabbed her ankles. The blood flow quickly snaked its way up Karai's calves, to her thighs, over her nightgown, and along her torso. As it did, it constricted around her like a python. In horror, she found the higher up it went, the faster it moved, the tighter it grabbed her, until, the moment it encapsulated her head, Karai screamed.

And then she woke up - again, drenched in sweat, her breathing rapid, and her heart nearly pounding from of her chest. Karai swallowed nervously and jerked around to stare at her mattress. She smiled. There, dressing her bed, she found the same clean, white sheets beneath her as she had slipped between when she had gone to bed hours earlier. Her nightgown, too, seemed unsoiled and as pristine as it had been when she first slipped it on.

Satisfied that she was indeed awake this time, Karai closed her eyes, and - as she did before in her subconscious state, took a cleansing breath.

_It was just…a dream, another dream._

Relieved, Karai turned to lie down in her bed, to resume her sleep, again, but as she did, she suddenly noticed a shadow by the window. At first, she was confused as to how anyone could be there, considering the location of her bedroom, eighty-five stories above the streets of New York. Then, reality set in. Determinedly, she sat up and reached under her pillow for the knife she kept there. To her horror, though, she it found it gone. Concerned, Karai glanced at the window again, only to discover that the shadow was now in her room!

Then, the figure stepped further into her bedroom. Moonlight seeped in from between her drapes to backlight him and, as he stopped to turn and observe her, it fell across his face. At that precise moment, Karai noticed the color blue wrapped around his head. It caused her breath to catch in her through, yet, what she saw next nearly stopping her heart.

Silhouetted against the soft, subdued lunar rays, Karai recognized the curved knife that Leonardo had gifted her with, and the same one she had 'given' back to him. Yet, it was this very knife that now protruded from her 'visitor's chest, with only the decorative, hand-carved hilt exposed. She looked at him fully, now, and as she did, he seemed to radiate with his own illumination. It was then when she noticed his slit throat, trails of blood running down his plastron, pooling along the marble floor where he walked.

And, as her nightmare strode towards her again, his steps tentative and predatory, Karai realized who he was and…screamed again.

Outside Karai's bedroom window, eighty-five stories above New York City, a lone figure waited. Shrouded in darkness, he had heard her shouts, her angry declarations, and then her screams. Still, he continued to stay where he was, a snarl on his lips. He had already decided how this would end, if indeed he had been right. As the wind whipped at his red bandanna tails, the 'shadow' pressed harder into the concrete. He was determined to complete his task. With climbing claws buried into the stone-like material and his toes wedged between the mortared brick, despite the strain on his body, he remained stationary. He listened again, silent, invisible, one with the night.

As he listened, he heard her talking, furiously raging on about something, and then hotly uttering a string of Japanese expletives. Then, she was quiet.

After half an hour and convinced she was alone, that whomever she was talking to had left the room, he gave a quick glance around to make sure that no one was nearby.

Satisfied that he would be unobserved and with practiced ease, he snipped the wires he had exposed earlier. Effectively disabling security around the window, he then unlocked the latch.

As Raphael slipped quietly inside the room, he grinned malevolently. Payback would be his tonight, for tonight…he would avenge his brother's murder.


End file.
